


A World With No You - Is No World At All

by beekayem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Established Pack, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sheriff's Name Is Still John, TW: Suicidal Thoughts (no actual suicide), depressed!Stiles, hero!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekayem/pseuds/beekayem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>There once was a universe where two lonely boys found each other in their time of need. Where a young boy terrified for his mother stumbled out of her hospital room, and over to the closest vending machine to buy himself a packet of potato chips. Where another boy saw the first boy struggling to get the machine to accept the slightly crumpled dollar bill and went over to help. This kickstarted a long and loyal friendship that held fast through a multitude of problems and supernatural disasters in the years that followed.</em><br/> <br/><em>In another universe when the young boy's father handed him a slightly crumpled dollar bill and told him to go and buy some potato chips – the young boy shook his head silently and held tighter to his mother's hand. The other young boy sat out in the corridor waiting for his mother to finish her shift never needed to go and help with the vending machine. When the time came for her shift to end, she collected her son and left the hospital.</em></p><p>  <em>In this universe the two lonely boys never met.</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	A World With No You - Is No World At All

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Any and all mistakes found are mine and mine alone because I suck. Uh...that being said I hope you enjoy. I wrote this on my tumblr originally and fleshed it out today (many weeks later). Probably only a oneshot, but I may add to it as I feel like it :)

There once was a universe where two lonely boys found each other in their time of need. Where a young boy terrified for his mother stumbled out of her hospital room, and over to the closest vending machine to buy himself a packet of potato chips. Where another boy saw the first boy struggling to get the machine to accept the slightly crumpled dollar bill and went over to help. This kickstarted a long and loyal friendship that held fast through a multitude of problems and supernatural disasters in the years that followed.

In another universe when the young boy's father handed him a slightly crumpled dollar bill and told him to go and buy some potato chips – the young boy shook his head silently and held tighter to his mother's hand. The other young boy sat out in the corridor waiting for his mother to finish her shift never needed to go and help with the vending machine. When the time came for her shift to end, she collected her son and left the hospital.

In this universe the two lonely boys never met.

* * *

_Jack's_ was a coffee shop tucked away in the mildly dubious part of town down a short alleyway behind a hairdressing salon. While looking absolutely suspect and more than a little seedy on the outside, the inside was relatively cosy. It wasn't as popular as any of the shops on the main road, but it served decent drinks and was cheaper than Starbucks so it didn't have any shortage of customers.

The coffee shop was owned and managed by a middle-aged woman by the name of Wendy who'd opened the place after her husband had died and named it after him. Most of her time was spent in the cramped office out the back of the shop going over the books and generally avoiding anything to do with the actual making and serving of beverages. That luxury was afforded to her two members of staff: Jenna a twenty-four year old single mother who could make the most mouthwatering Red Velvet Cheesecake Swirl Brownies, and Stiles.

Stiles had been a pity hire. Wendy had taken one look at the exhausted teenager seated on the other side of her desk, and told him to be there at 7am the next day to start training with Jenna. Stiles who was so very quiet and withdrawn and _lonely_ that he more often than not he ended up crawling into bed and crying himself to sleep. Not that Wendy knew that of course. Nobody ever really bothered to know what was going on with Stiles.

After Claudia Stilinski died when her son was a mere eight years old, John had taken one look into the golden brown of his child's eyes and headed straight for the bottle. Time passed and he returned to the station, throwing himself into his work to keep his mind off of what he'd lost. The townsfolk who'd been so very concerned with their Sheriff and his son, saw that John Stilinski had come back to them and slowly forgot that there had ever been a problem.

And Stiles was left alone. Eight years old and his father couldn't even look him in the eye without turning to the whiskey afterwards. Eight years old and missing his mother more than anything with nobody to listen and nobody to cry on. But Stiles was nothing if not a survivor and so he stepped up and took care of himself. Taught himself how to cook from the internet. Walked to and from school each day and did his homework to the best of his abilities. Learned how to use the washing machine and the best way to fold his shirts.

Nobody really noticed that the boy with all the words in the world never spoke anymore.

So he'd melted into the background barely registering on anybody's radar. Not even Jackson Whittemore bullied him anymore. Stiles trudged through life by himself, throwing himself into his studies as he got older to numb the isolation. If his grades were good then his father had one less thing to worry about in regards to his troubled son. If his grades were good then he could get into a good college and maybe even make his father proud of him.

And his grades _were_ good. Before he'd even finished high school he'd had letters offering him places at various colleges and universities. He'd chosen to graduate early and had been in the midst of choosing where to go next to continue his education when he'd received the phonecall telling him about his father's accident and Stiles had felt his scholarships brushing against his fingertips into the black void of lost opportunities.

Because his father came first. Because he'd already lost one parents and losing two before he was twenty years old was just not allowed. And so when he'd found out that his father's life insurance would not cover all of the surgeries and medical care necessary to bring him back from the point of death – Stiles had gone straight to the wanted ads in the paper to find work. Only days later did he stumble across a tiny coffee shop hidden at the end of an alleyway with a woman named Wendy who took pity on him and offered him a job.

Stiles worked as many hours as many days a week as she allowed him to. When the day was done and Jenna gave him a hard look and forced him to leave he would head to the park for a few hours instead of going home. When the streetlights came on and the park was deserted, Stiles would slowly drag himself back to the house and climb beneath the covers of his bed.

Not for the first and certainly not for the last time the nineteen year old boy would entertain the thought of how peaceful it might be were he to never wake up. As his eyelids fluttered closed and sleep finally took over he'd always decide that it would be the last time. That the next day he'd stay asleep forever and everything would be so much better. But morning would come and he'd wake up and spend a few moments staring blankly at his ceiling before breathing a sigh and starting everything all over again.

Until the one day it didn't and everything changed.

* * *

"-said to him, 'If you think I'm letting you anywhere near my daughter you are fucking nuts!' and do you know what that fucker said? He said-"

Stiles didn't actually hear what he said because before Jenna had a chance to reach that part of her story, he'd already dozed off again. His knees resting on the shelf where they kept the spare cups and his upper body hunched over the counter with his face smooshed against the surface. His arms hung loosely at his sides as Jenna watched a line of drool slowly make its way closer to the counter top she'd just cleaned. Closer and closer and-

"STILES!"

The poor boy jerked awake and stared more than a little alarmed at her, " _Jesus_ Jenna what the hell?" those pretty doe eyes of his were blinking rapidly in an attempt to figure out just what was going on that was cause for her to be yelling.

Shrugging Jenna offered a tiny smile, "Honey you are exhausted. Go head home early, I can hold the fort until it's time to close."

Stiles rubbed a hand over his closely shorn head and glanced over at the seating area that was currently empty save the one old man who came in every day and stayed long past however long his single black coffee lasted. He really didn't want to go back to his empty house and sleep, but the night before had been fraught with memories

of his mother's deterioration and he'd only managed a couple of hours at most. It wasn't hard to get over himself and thank Jenna with a half hug before going out the back and hanging up his apron.

After saying his goodbyes to Wendy and Jenna, Stiles started the fifty minute walk home and wished he'd taken his Jeep to work that morning. The Jeep was generally only used during winter when it was too cold to walk because gas was expensive and Stiles had to save where he could to put toward his dad's expenses. The bright side to not using a car to get around meant that he'd been getting a lot of exercise and was probably a lot fitter than he'd been in a long time.

The sky was gradually darkening as he strolled down each familiar street. Subconsciously he ticked off each item on his checklist of things he passed to and from work. _Indian takeaway shop. Stone mermaid fountain. Weird single neon green brick in wall. Red door. Pothole._ Each one was silently noted as he passed them by.

Up until the pothole he'd been ignoring the weird itch that had built up beneath his skin. The itch that told him he was being watched that Stiles had written off as him being paranoid. Paranoia was allowed. The string of animal attacks that had taken place recently were enough to warrant at least a little concern. Which was why when he reached the pothole and the howls echoed through the night, Stiles gave into his urge to run.

The ground raced to meet him when he was tackled only metres from when he'd started running. Everything was a mess of snapping and snarling and his own panicked shrieks for help from someone _anyone_. He could feel something sharp ( _claws_ , his mind supplied) as it tore into his flesh and pinned him to the filthy concrete. There was pain and blood and the briefest flash of bright red before suddenly whatever had attacked him – vanished.

Stiles lay there unmoving with his cheek pressed against the cold stone much like it had been on the counter not even an hour earlier. Every fibre of his being was tensed in anticipation of being attacked once more. His eyes burned with tears as he struggled to calm himself down because a panic attack was the last thing he needed right at that moment.

Eventually he managed to roll over onto his back and slowly sit up. Drawing his legs in he hunched over into himself and buried his face into his hands as he gave in to the urge to cry. Fuck. **FUCK.** Why did his everything suck. What had he done in his past life that he'd ended up with this fucking tragedy of an existence?

"Good, you're alive."

The voice came from somewhere to his left and Stiles turned his head to peer at the man who'd just staggered out from behind a wall. His clothing was torn and he seemed to be injured as well as he dropped down beside Stiles, "Are you okay?" his voice was gruff, but it wasn't deep.

Clutching at himself just a little tighter Stiles nodded slowly, "Yeah." he said, "Yeah I'm okay." but he wasn't. Hadn't been for a very long time and this was just the shit icing on the mudcake that was his life.

"Do you want me to call someone for you? You're not really in any condition to get yourself home in one piece right now."

A sharp bark of laughter broke free from Stiles as he shook his head, "No." the word was rough and harsh, "There really isn't anyone you can call." because the only numbers in his contacts were his father's, Wendy's and a long list of takeout places. His father wouldn't be answering any time soon and Wendy could care less about what happened to him as long as he turned up for work in the morning.

And really that was just it. The end. He'd had enough.

Nineteen years of his life and what did he have to show for it? _Nothing_.

It was time to give up. Being a survivor just wasn't working out for him anymore. No. No the time of survival was over and all he really wanted to do was get home and cry into a bottle of sleeping pills until nothing hurt any longer.

Closing his eyes Stiles braced himself against the sidewalk and shoved himself to his feet. Fingers flitting down to where his flesh pulled and stung he felt the shallow gouges in his hips, and figured they wouldn't require medical attention. Intent to just get back to the house he stumbled forward a couple of steps and took a deep breath before trying to continue on.

Before he could make any headway however, a large hand curled around his arm and held him steady, "Then you're coming to my place. I'm not leaving you alone like this." the words curled around him in the same way his mother's arms used to when she hugged him. They offered a comfort he'd not been privy to in over ten years and he crumpled back to the concrete. God he was so _broken_. So damaged that a simple seven word sentence could bring him to his knees.

Because the idea was just so very novel. To not be alone was somewhat of a foreign concept to Stiles and here this stranger was offering it freely.

The man had dropped with him without Stiles even noticing and was in the middle of helping him back to his feet (with surprising ease) when he spoke again, "Derek." he muttered as he wrapped his arms around Stiles and supported him as he stood, "I'm Derek."

Curling his fingers into Derek's leather jacket Stiles let his head rest against the man's shoulder as he answered, "I'm Stiles."

Derek huffed what could have been a laugh (Stiles wasn't sure) and began leading them both over to a shiny black Camaro that Stiles hadn't noticed until then barely audibly, _"Quit laughing at me you little shits and go home."_

Stiles was tempted to ask him who he was talking to, but decided that it was entirely possible he'd just imagined Derek speaking what with the way the world was starting to go out of focus. With the words dying on the tip of his tongue, he simply allowed Derek to help him climb into the car and click the seatbelt in. Talking just seemed like a waste of energy at a time like that and Stiles had been on his last leg before he'd even left the cafe earlier.

Watching out of the corner of his eye as Derek followed suit and buckled himself into the driver's seat, Stiles finally took the time to inspect his newfound 'friend'. On the walk over he'd already established them to be around the same height, but Stiles had been clinging to the guy and knew the kind of muscle he was hiding beneath that clothing. There was stubble and the soft curve of a smirk and Stiles was kind of in awe at the cheekbones. It was extremely distressing and years of unwanted insecurities were slowly bubbling back up.

But whatever, hey no. That wasn't allowed. Nope. No self-pitying from Stiles no siree.

Not when (after even closer inspection) Stiles came to the conclusion that this was the kind of guy that ended up being one of those charming psychopaths and you couldn't trust their meat pies. As he pondered that line of thought, he decided that no – this was obviously the way to go. Being murdered was a far better way to die than to be found in his childhood bedroom two weeks after overdosing because the neighbours finally noticed the smell. Being murdered was exciting and better yet his father couldn't blame himself for it.

Because Stiles knew that if his father knew it was suicide, he'd feel guilty about failing him as a dad for the rest of his life. And that just wasn't going to fly at all.

In the midst of all his internal warring he never noticed that they'd finally stopped. Outside a large house. In the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by trees and oh _wow_ so he actually was going to die tonight and nope, as the moment had finally come upon him Stiles had decided that maybe death was actually terrifying. Maybe he'd like to keep living after all.

Because this was starting to feel a lot like those scenarios where his body was never recovered, and his poor dad had to live with the hope that maybe his one and only son; the light of his life was still alive somewhere out in the world. Which Stiles would know wasn't true due to the fact his body would be left rotting in the basement of this house.

"Are you coming inside?" oh and would you look at that. Derek 'I'm-not-leaving-you-alone-like-this' the serial killer was already out of the car and standing by his injured passenger's open door. He must have opened it in Stiles' panic. Which was steadily growing worse with every dark and twisted thought that had decided to pop open in his mind.

Due to his inability to do anything but breathe heavily, Stiles found himself once more being lifted into the arms of his saviour-come-potentialdeathbringer. Derek didn't seem to mind though. In fact if anything he seemed to be enjoying the prolonged contact with his patient. So much so that he was _smelling Stiles' hair_.

Which no. Just no. Forever and ever amen no. Who did he think he was? **Hannibal**?

"Oh god do you think you're Hannibal?" the words had flown from his mouth in a flurry of squeaky terror before he'd even fully registered the original thought happening.

Peering up at the man whose arms he was snuggled into quite nicely; Stiles took a moment to admire the _very_ nice jawline in his direct line of sight. The next moment he took was to silently berate himself for letting a pretty face distract him from the issue at hand. Which was that Derek simply huffed in reply to his question and said, "Do you like steak?"

The answer was in fact 'yes' Stiles did like steak. What answer came out was in reality, "No I do not want to be steak." which he only regretted when Derek stopped walking and scowled down at him.

"I'm not going to eat you."

Oh well, with that absolutely reassuring statement out in the open of course Stiles' panic can just float away like dust in the wind. That. That was sarcasm. His anxiety (while not increasing at the words) was still perfectly in tact and in no danger of abating.

They finally reached the front door which swung open before Derek could reach out to try. A young blonde woman with a fierce glint in her eye and a blood red smile that sent shivers down his spine was standing in the doorway, "Oh look what we have here. A hero and his cutie pie of a damsel," her attention turned to Stiles and she winked, "I'm Erica and we're going to have so much fun together." he highly doubted that.

Derek muttered something under his breath and her face fell. How could she hear it? Stiles didn't know and frankly he wasn't sure if he wanted to. There was something ever so slightly _off_ about this whole scenario that he just wasn't ready to face up to. Mostly because the wounds on his hips were throbbing again and his head hurt and his chest hurt and everything freaking hurt and he just really wanted his mom. Really badly.

She'd make everything better.

As he and Derek moved through the house after Erica disappeared he was acutely aware of the fact that while they didn't come across anyone else...they were most definitely being watched by whoever else was there. Derek didn't care though. It appeared that he didn't give a shit about a lot of things. Stiles should probably take some lessons from him if he was going to keep on trucking rather than throwing it all in and giving up. A no-care attitude seemed to be the thing he really needed.

An uneasy (because Stiles was never going to admit to it being almost _comfortable_ ) silence washed over them as Derek quietly sat him down on the bench in one of the bathrooms. They didn't speak as he cleaned Stiles up and bandaged the scratches or when he helped Stiles hobble into one of the bedrooms and beneath the covers. As Stiles lay in the bed while Derek bustled around doing whatever it was he was doing and as the light shut off, curled himself into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the tears.

He could feel Derek hovering in the doorway and he was _not_ going to cry in front of him.

"You're not alone anymore."

The door closed. Stiles tightened his grip on his knees against his chest and tried to keep breathing normally. It worked too. For all of twenty seconds before the air was whisked from his lungs in a choke-y sob and the tears began to fall.

Because while it was a nice sentiment.

Nobody had ever kept that promise.


End file.
